


When Death Knocks

by BrightStarling



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bilbo Baggins Feels, Happy Ending, M/M, Sad, Thorin Died, until Bilbo died and everything was fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:50:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightStarling/pseuds/BrightStarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hundred and thirty five years is a very long time for a hobbit.  However, Bilbo refused to travel to the Undying Lands with his friends.</p><p>Because it's a place where a certain dwarf could not follow.</p><p>Lots of hobbit feels!</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Death Knocks

**Author's Note:**

> This may be a bit, um, messy since I was kind of upset when I wrote this...
> 
> Nearly became my first sad!fic but I saved it in the very end haha...
> 
> Kudos and comments are welcomed!

    Bilbo Baggins thought he heard somebody knocking on the door.

    But he could not answer it, no, his body seemed rather adamant about staying in bed today. His limbs felt like lead and his eyes would barely open. Not like having his eyes open would be much different, anyway. These days all he could see was a blur, different hues replacing what used to be sharp images of his mother's doilies and his father's armchair. A hundred and thirty-five years is a long time for a hobbit to live through, that Bilbo was more than sure. His head was perhaps as clear as when he was fifty, but his hobbit body had long refused to function as it used to.

    Two years ago, Frodo had begged him to accompany him to the undying land. The lad even claimed that he shall not leave Middle Earth unless his uncle leave with him(it doesn't matter whether Frodo really was a lad or not--when you're the longest-living hobbit ever, you've earned the right to call _anyone_ laddie). Bilbo always smiled at that particular piece of memory, for at that moment Frodo looked unchanged. He looked anxious and worried and so full of emotions. Like the tiny hobbitling he was when he first came to Bag End. Bilbo had for some time accepted the fact that his nephew would never be back to his old self, and he was alright with that. You don't remain the same after a trip to Mordor just like you're most likely to be kind of odd after running off with thirteen dwarves with absolutely no manners and whatsoever. His love for his nephew was unconditional, and would remain so as long as Arda stood. But at that very moment he thought he saw a glimpse of hope, a chance for Frodo's wound to heal and maybe, just maybe those eyes as blue as summer's sky would shine again with the spark of life that had been absent ever since his nephew returned from his adventure.

    Even if he ended up propped up on his bed with some of his dearest friends surrounding him after he told Frodo so. It was immensely amusing to see both Gandalf and Lord Elrond crammed in hobbit-sized seats with hobbit-sized teacups. Much to Frodo's disappointment, the elf and the wizard did not try to persuade the old hobbit to come with them to the Grey Haven. Instead, they talked about elvish customs and songs, sang and laughed like it was nothing more than a reunion for old friends, even though after the day Bilbo knew he would be left behind all alone in his hobbit hole.

    He did not mind, not really, for it is enough to know that Lord Elrond could meet his wife again and Gandalf would hopefully stop meddling and causing troubles. Just a single"good morning"had Bilbo ended up on the other side of Middle Earth. He could hardly imagine what sort of mischief the residents in Valinor are to suffer.

    So he had hugged a teary Frodo before his nephew climbed onto a pony. Gandalf waved his knobby hand and Lord Elrond dipped his head. They bid him farewell and Bilbo smiled as he gradually dozed off under the gentle glowing sun of Hobbiton, his expression calm as his mind roamed freely in the realm of dreams.

    He had been spending much time sleeping nowadays, his memories surfacing in the form of dreams, memories which he did not even know that he possessed. He still thought of Frodo, true, but perhaps it was because that his heart knew that the boy would be safe and happy in the care of elves, his nephew did not occupy his unconscious moments as much as he thought would have. It was usually a fleeting smile or a scene with Frodo curled up on the couch, using Bilbo's stomach as a pillow. These dreams are short but they always left him feeling warm in the chest. No, what he dreamt of more these days was actually the most uncomfortable year of his hobbit life, a time when he was constantly flying away from wargs and orcs and other foul creatures. And there, another reason why he found dreams so fascinating. In his dreams, there was never the hardship which they experienced during their travel. It was always something pleasant, like when the Company had found a stream to bath in, Fili and Kili splashing a still-undressing Dwalin wet from head to toe before the two went running and screaming for their lives. Or when Bofur started a lewd drinking song and the rest of the dwarves joined in and each shared versions of their own (the lewder the words are, the louder the others cheered. Ugh, _dwarves_ ). Nothing extremely special but moments which Bilbo cherished and remembered for reasons he wasn't even sure of himself.

    The company had been kind, they've always had been. Even after the theft they had offered him a place in Erebor. King Fili had desperately asked him to stay, confessing to their burglar that he did not feel ready to be King Under the Mountain at all. Kili had managed to make his typical puppy eyes even more innocent when Bilbo had announced that he would leave in Gandalf's company. It would be lying to say that he had never wondered what it would be like had he remained in the Lonely Mountain instead, but Bilbo also knew that had he been given a second chance, his choice would have remained the same. He would not--could not stay in the city when the king sitting on the throne was not Thorin, nor could he bear to be reminded every single day that the dwarf who would fight a dragon to reclaim his home was lying lifeless under Erebor with that blasted stone.

Just the sight of Orcist resting on Thorin Oakenshield's grave made him choke on emotions he could not name. He explained none of these to the Company, not even sweet Ori who was always supportive and understanding. Besides, he did not know how to put such complicated feelings into words, either. In the end he visited Thorin for the one last time before leaving the dwarven kingdom behind.

    He thought he had left a piece of himself behind, too.

    He still received letters from his old friends, but the dwarf he wanted to hear from the most was silenced forever by the mace of Azog's.

 

    The person at the door knocked again, this time harder and more insistent than before. Sam had probably come to check on him. A good lad, he is. Rosie was very lucky to have him. But then Sam had the keys of Bag End, Bilbo reminded himself. He did not need someone to answer the door. Who could it be, then? Perhaps some hobbitlings who would like to hear his story again? But then judging from the way sunshine spills in his room(he must have strained his neck doing so, that _hurts_ )Bilbo knew that wasn't the case. No respectable hobbit would have their children running around during lunch time. Not even the Tooks.

    Whoever at the door would just have to come back later, preferably some other day when Bilbo did not feel like a china doll that would break from an action as simple as _getting out of bed_. Sam had left him stew for lunch, but the old hobbit doubt that he'll be having any. And all the thinking had made him sleepy. A little nap sounds rather lovely--

    He knew he was dreaming. He just _knew_.

   

  _The ground was hard and bumpy, something Bilbo just couldn't get used to. Horse hair, fine. Meagre meals, well, what choice does he have? But he had failed to adjust to the coldness that seemed to seep into his bones from the ground. And his choice of clothes when he burst out of Bag End's round door definitely wasn't helping. He thought about trying to get closer to the fire but then decided against it. He was already close enough. The last thing he needed was to have the hair on the back of his feet singed when he accidentally turned in his sleep._

_Finally, the hobbit sighed in resignation as he made himself as comfortable as it could be lying on cold, hard ground as he willed himself to fall asleep with his eyes determinedly shut. Then realized that it was pointless because it was just bloody cold. How he wished they hadn't lose all their gear in the goblin cave!_

_Suddenly, as if somebody had heard his thoughts and answered him, there was warmth. Soft fur gently draped across his upper body, enclosing him in the warm air the fur had trapped inside. The fur coat smelt like iron, like smoke, and many other things that were foreign to the hobbit who first stepped out of Bag End yet more than familiar to the hobbit who was currently curled on the ground with a bunch of dwarves. The fur coat smelt like **Thorin**. _

   

    Before Bilbo could dwell into the dream more, the scene shifted and he was no longer wrapped around the fur coat. Even in his dream the old hobbit managed to thought of several unsavory curse words in Khuzdul(the only thing the Company considered acceptable teaching him about). He wanted to stay for longer, he wanted to say thank you to the stoic dwarf king but he supposed that it was just how his dreams worked. The scenes always disappear whenever he wanted to change things by speaking or something else. Bilbo grunted before allowing another piece of memory unfold before him, this time he and Thorin sharing a pipe in Beorn's backyard. He did not even dare to consider speaking this time, but made a perfect smoke ring instead and watched the dwarf king stare at the ring with amusement.

    He had too many pieces of memory like this. Of all the Company members Thorin was the most enigmatic one, yet also the dwarf Bilbo felt safest and most comfortable around. Even if the dwarf king used to spend half of his time glaring(which Bilbo had later learnt, was simply the dwarf's usual expression when he thinks) at nothing like the air had offended him personally. After the hug on Carrock, the hobbit could feel that something between them had changed. Something more than friendship yet not life-dept or anything like that either. The king would place his bedroll closer to Bilbo's(and send any dwarf who dare get in his way on guard duty), save him his portion of food when Bofur was too hungry to remember to do so, and occasionally, they would share a pipe and talk. Thorin often speak fondly of Erebor when she was once the richest dwarven kingdom in Middle Earth, and of his family when the Arkenstone had not yet been found. In return Bilbo told him about that sneaky Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and the Thain and his seemingly endless line of family. Thorin had looked at him in wonder when he explained how the Thain system worked in Hobbiton.

   

    " _Are you telling me, Master Baggins, that we have in fact recruited a prince of the Shire as our burglar?"_

_"Um, well, if you must put it that way. But Thain is of no royal blood, more like somebody who makes sure that everything was functioning properly. And I am probably the seventh or eighth in line, I'm not even sure, so there really is little chance for me to inherit the title,"he explained hastily._

_"Prince Bilbo,"Thorin simply said, the corner of his lips turninging upwards slightly._

_Bilbo ignored the dwarf by turning his attention to the pipe in hand. He could, however, feel himself mirroring Thorin's expression. Yet unlike the stoic dwarf, the hobbit allowed his lips to curve into a full smile and, eventually, broke into laughter._

 

    It was confusing, to be honest. When he was fifty they were usually too busy trying to stay alive for Bilbo to think much. After he had safely returned to the Shire, Bilbo supposed that he just automatically tucked any piece of memory concerning the king away. It had been hard enough to simply acknowledge the fact that Thorin was dead, and even harder to think about what had happened during their journey, what had happened between them. It's a miracle that he managed to finish his book. Writing it was like reliving their quest all over again, and more often than not Bilbo could not tell whether he was laughing about whatever funny incident that came across his mind, or feeling like breaking into tears for all the loss they have suffered. The words concerning the king's death was brief, but that was because he could not dwell any further into the topic without something in chest threatening to break.

    They say that time heals all wounds, but Bilbo would beg to differ. Even till today, he could never probably mourn for the death of Thorin. It was as if his mind had refused to take in the information. He had never imagined that it would hurt so much to think of a lost friend, but apparently that's just how it is.

    He could still recall how the dwarf king hauled him up when he tripped over some tangled roots in Mirkwood, and how Thorin had pulled their forehead together in the elven dungeon when Bilbo first showed himself. Also the time when Thorin insisted on having the hobbit seated on his right during their celebration in Lake Town, and later when he was presented with the mithril shirt. At that time, he had told himself that he would figure out everything that took place between them after everything had been sorted out. It was, in a way, something that helped him place the fear for the upcoming battle at the back of his mind. He still has trouble telling the look in Thorin's eyes and how he seemed to feel a bit happier whenever the dwarf turned his attention to him.

    Then came the battle, and he only reached Thorin in time to hear his last words. There were so many things he had wanted to say, but his feelings were so complicated that he couldn't exactly recognize them himself. Thorin looked as if he wanted to say something other than to ask for Bilbo's forgiveness as well, but in the end those were the last words shared between them. After that he dared to think about that fateful day no more. Never again did he try to make out the message those impossibly blue eyes were trying to convey before the dwarf departed from this world. All Bilbo could remember was how terribly pain had struck him as he helplessly watched Thorin go to somewhere he could not follow.

    The old hobbit opened his eyes, only to find tears streaming down his face. He could not, however, muster up the energy to wipe it away with his sleeves. So Bilbo just allowed them to flow freely, his entire body shaking uncontrollably as grief overwhelmed him once again. He felt as if he had lost somebody more than a friend, something so much more yet he couldn't quite put a name to it.

    All of a sudden there was the sound of footsteps in his house. Whoever was at the door must have figured his way inside. Bilbo jerked up instinctively. He had not heard the door open. Considering that hobbits almost make no sound while they walk, this thumping noise was way too heavy for his kind. Bilbo could feel his heart racing as the sound came closer and closer to his room.

    Oh why did he left his bedroom door open yesterday? He propped himself up with a sudden realization that he was actually moving with ease.

    The hobbit looked down at his hands, finding the skin smooth and no longer wrinkled. And he could actually see properly now, his eyes as sharp as they were when he was _fifty_.

    Bilbo turned rigidly, and there it was, the one-hundred-and-thirty-five-years-old version of Bilbo Baggins lying completely still in his tiny hobbit bed, devoid of any vital signs showing that the hobbit was still alive.

    Before he could fully understand what just happened, a towering figure loomed over him and Bilbo's mouth fell open unattractively. He looked at the supposedly dead dwarf then turned to look at the unbelievably old hobbit lying motionlessly in bed. The realization hit him like a thunder bolt.

   

     He, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, is dead.

 

    He turned back to look at Thorin, who had gestured him to come with him, yet all he could do was to gape at the dwarf with disbelief, "Aren't you supposed to be in the hall of your forefathers?"

    Um, so maybe not the sort of question one would ask on some teary reunion. But Bilbo suspected that this was perhaps the best his tongue could do when somebody he's been missing for more than eighty years suddenly showed up at the foot of his bed.

    Thorin just shrugged like the question mattered nothing. As Bilbo showed no sign of leaving his bed, he sighed and stretched his hand out before the hobbit. His face turned slightly red when Bilbo just stared at his hand like he just saw a ghost. The dwarf turned his face away, yet his hand still remained outstretched.

    Bilbo eventually took the dwarf's hand tentatively. He gave it an experimental squeeze and the dwarf quickly squeezed back. The hobbit's eyes widened as those calloused fingers linked through his soft ones and lifted him off the bed like he weighed nothing.

    "Thorin......"

    The said dwarf leaned down to wipe away his tears with a thumb. Bilbo sniffed and for some reason Thorin simply smiled.

    He threw his arms around the king's neck and the latter wrapped his arms around the hobbit's waist. This time it was Bilbo who smiled. He had a feeling that they will have plenty of time to figure everything out.

 

    x----x

 

    "Really, Thorin, you couldn't have come any earlier? I don't know about dwarves, but a hundred and thirty five years is just _way_ too much for a hobbit,"

    Thorin just rolled his eyes. He still could not fathom why Bilbo was so happy about being dead and had actually wanted to die earlier, despite the talk they previously had.

    "And who exactly gave you this map, may I ask?"

    "Dwalin said it would lead us back to Mahal's hall,"the dwarf replied lazily, his hands rubbing the hobbit's midsection, entranced. The hobbit swatted at the moving hands when they wandered a bit too low.

    "Then do you know that you have been holding this thing upside down ever since we left Bag End?"

     --What?

    Thorin could only tear his eyes off Bilbo(who looked both smug and content using the dwarf king as an armchair)and forced himself to take in their surroundings instead. Trees of immense beauty surrounded them. The hobbit watched him with a wry smile before supplying helpfully,"I think these are called Mallorn trees, a rare kind that grows only in the elven city of Lothlorien,"

    Thorin groaned.

   

    

**Author's Note:**

> Happy ending as promised:-)
> 
> Please tell me what you think?


End file.
